Alas, An Alice Alphabet!
by penniless1
Summary: A series of events between Alice Kingsleigh and Tarrant Hightopp approximately two years after Frabjous day. In alphabetical order, of course...Letter E.
1. Letter A

"Amorous," Alice admitted apprehensively.

"Adorable," an apparition, all aglow, advised ardently. "Admirable, attractive and acceptable. Alas..."

"Alice," an annoyed Ascot asked, "Alone again?"

Absolutely abysmally agonized apparitions absconded.

"Always," Alice answered angrily. Absolem's adrift.

* * *

It started in April, approximately two years after Hamish Ascot's botched marriage proposal. Alice had already taken trips to Hong Kong, Shanghai, Peking, and various other locales in China. Now she was in India, having barely survived a dreadful crossing of the indomitable Himalayan mountain range.

In the relative safety of Bombay, Alice Kingsleigh stood in front of an opulently framed full-length mirror, most indecently dressed in her chemise and bloomers. One could forgive her - the sweltering heat had simply driven her mad. Mad enough that she had taken to screeching at the _frumious scutlicking_ Indian maidservants to _bloody well _leave her alone!

Perhaps this was why she saw _him_ in her dreams, his dark burr rolling and washing over her like waves on the shores of Bath.

"_Or it could all be Absolem's fault,"_ she thought a bit spitefully, watching absentmindedly as the beautiful blue butterfly fitted to the top of the mirror's frame.

She closed her eyes and swayed a bit on her feet. The heat had left her dizzy before, and she could feel another swoon coming over her now. Still, she did not do the right and proper thing, which would have been to go lie down and take a nap in her shaded four-poster bed. No, what she did instead was lean on the heavy mirror itself, her face and chest pressed against its delightfully cool surface. Her arms hugged the looking glass lovingly, crushing it to her blazing body in a frenzied attempt to stop being so _scrumly _warm.

"Alice?"

A tremulous, lilting voice ruffled her hair, its light lisp licking the locks at the very top of her crown.A weight, slight, but still meaningful, lit lazily upon her head.

"_Alliteration. Amusing. I'm thinking of words that begin with the letter L,"_ Alice thought to herself, one part of her ashamed of her self-mocking tone. It was still the larger part of her mind - the part that told her to be reasonable in business meetings and stop daydreaming during dinners with dignitaries.

"_Oh dear. I seem to have gone back to the letter D."_

"Aye, a rather delightful letter, if'nae wee bit dauntin', devious, deceitful, darin', devilish-"

"Hatter," Alice cooed, without even opening her eyes, "You may stop now."

"-Deerstalker! Right, thank ye, Alice. Ye're rather good a' tha', ye ken?"

A pause. One lazy beat of Absolem's wings fluttered noiselessly as understanding dawned on her.

"Hatter!" Alice cried as she threw herself back, hold herself at arm's-length from the mirror. "Oh, Hatter! You dear, sweet man! What on earth are you doing here? Oh, let me have a look at you!"

[~~~]

Tarrant Hightopp, Wanderer Extraordinaire and former Royal Hatter of Queen Mirana, Ruler of All Underland, was too busy trying to decide if he should run and hide his _scut_ under the tea-table till high-Brillig or pounce upon this apparition with all of the avarice his Badness advised. Tonight had been the first night in over two years that he had been to the abandoned windmill - the place he had first met _her_. After _her_ _**abrupt abandonme**_-

With effort, Tarrant Hightopp pushed away the Badness and began his thoughts again.

After Frabjous Day (_yes, much better turn of phrase_), he decided that he should take a walking tour of Underland and acquire an accurate idea of the appearance of his world. Anything to take his mind off of _her_ _**abhorrent absence-**_

He had finally returned to the windmill, a bit over-worn and tattered and torn (_lovely little rhyme there, old chap!_), long after Brillig he assumed, seeing as how Night was upon him and Moon was yawning rather broadly. Finally feeling his thirty-and-six years old, despite being no better friends with Time, he'd barely had the energy to strip himself of his jacket and waistcoat and shirt and undershirt and cravat and claymore...

He'd only just started to undress when, in searching for a safe place to store his Hat from that _**guddler's scut, naught fer usal **_Chessur, he happened to glance at the dusty old looking glass and _saw her_. _She_ had been pressed against the glass, _her_ fair, nubile body quite atrociously, audaciously sticky-wet, thoroughly drenched in a way that caused _her_ chemise to become transparent-

_She_ was obviously _rather_ warm where ever _sh_e was, and _she_ looked like _she_ was silently pleading with him for an embrace, as if his chill, pale skin could somehow relieve _her_ of whatever burdensome heat _she_ was enduring.

"_A dream then,"_ Tarrant thought to Himself, all bemused.

"_Indeed,"_ he heard Himself reply. _"I've gone the wrong way 'round the bend now, haven't I?"_

But this possibility of a further descent into lunacy did not stop him from approaching _her_, his own arms outstretched. Almost of its own accord did the Hat perch itself on the right corner of the looking glass, salmon chiffon scarf fluttering around the mirror's frame. With scant regard for Goodness, Badness, or Madness, Tarrant brought himself right to the glass, his eyes heavy and half-lidded and glowing bright green as they followed riotous waves of spun-gold hair.

"Alice?" Tarrant whispered breathlessly, his voice no more than a _slithering tove_ of a lisp as he wrapped his arms around the mirror.

The apparition answered in _her_ clear, ringing voice. Tarrant's control over his Madness - something that he had not fully sunk into for the past...since Frabjous Day - slipped sharply. For a few moments he was completely lost in the act of holding _her_, _slurvishly_ wrapping himself in her scent and her feel, Speech and Thought only barely connected to each other. He was quite certain that he was rambling when_ her_ voice broke through the rush of words.

_She_ was pushing him away, so he _must_ release _her_, but (_oh, calloo, callay!_) _she_ had not dropped his hands - he could still feel _her_ strong fingers winding around his bony wrists. His own pin-pricked, thorn-scratched, battered hands were grasping the fine bones in _her_ own dainty wrists a bit tighter than he might have done consciously, but really, he was too awestruck to appreciate anything beyond this...this..._Alice_. _The Alice._

"_My Alice..."_

His eyes - no telling _what_ color they might be at the moment, but certainly nothing as mundane as _grass-green_ - scoured scrupulously over her form, taking in every minute change in her body. The Bandersnatch's scrapes had faded quite nicely, and Alice (_and oh! The delight of calling her name without fighting patches of Darkness!_) herself was a bit tanner than he usually dreamed, but the blue eyes sparkled with even more _muchness_ and her body had absolutely bloomed. It was as if she'd been a half-unfurled bud that Frabjous Day and here, now, was the final flower, petals flung wide open and ready to dance in the sunlight, from the graceful curve of her neck, the flare of her pert bosom and her winsome hips, right down to her tender, tiny toes-

"_**My Alice...ye've grown so fine,**_**"** he _growled_ before he could bite his _slurvish_ tongue. Fortunately, it appeared that he had said the right thing - pink roses blossomed rather becomingly in her cheeks, even as her eyes ran over him searchingly. He was quite distracted from her examination as he watched her peachy little tongue swipe over her full lips.

"Amorous."

The husky whisper gained Form and Meaning, then very nearly strangled Tarrant Hightopp to death. _"Amorous"_ she'd said, a nigh-silent slip of sound that had caused his kilt to tighten under his sporran in a _very_ unseemly way. Despite the vicious attack the word had launched against his good conduct, he could not bare the thought of _not _hearing her whisper it to him.

[~~~]

Alice gazed rapturously upon the Hatter, marveling at the wonders of her imagination. He was wondrously bare-chested, a condition that was not unfamiliar where men were concerned, having spent the better part of the past years on a sailing vessel, but it was still a novel concept where her Hatter was concerned. He looked a fair bit more gaunt, but also very lean and muscular, as if he had been living in a far more physical lifestyle than before - why, he even had burnt sienna wisps ghosting in the cleft of his broad chest, leaving a teasing trail straight down to the edge of his-

"**_My Alice...ye've grown so fine,_"**

Alice painfully put away the _Naughty Thoughts_ that his wispy hair and raspy burr inspired, valiantly trying to ignore the immediate rush of blood to her cheeks. She tried to take in her Hatter once more.

He was clad in his kilt, the same kilt that she had seen swirling in her peripheral vision as she clambered over stony stairs in her duel with the Jabberwocky. Although he looked far dustier that she remembered, he was still the same - bright orange hair, with pale, pale skin and nimble, gloved hands. Strong dancer's legs encased in long, woolen socks and battered boots. The socks emphasized the new tone to his calves, and the rugged lines of his...good Lord, were those _dimples_ in his knees?

Alice could not understand how the weather could become even _warmer_. The words tumbled out of her mouth, a torrent to Tarrant's ears.

"Amorous. How you look is making me feel very...amorous. Yes, I believe that's the right word I'm looking for. It's the kilt, you know. And the dimples in your knees. Yes, not knobbly in the least. Rather handsome, in fact...Shame, that I'm only wearing my undergarments, as such. Not nearly as attractive, I daresay. Such a dreadful situation - I would rather that I'd been wearing a ball gown. Possibly even the stockings, but no corset, mind you, not with this dreadful heat..."

[~~~]

Tarrant Hightopp knew now, for a distinct Fact, that this was a dream; never could he dare to hope that _the Alice _would become...**amorous** (_again, the word tried to squeeze his heart!_) over the dimples in his knees, and certainly she would not be presenting her luscious (_lustful_) figure to him in such a state of undress, baring to his very hungry (_and definitely glowing violet!_) eyes that she was indeed as unfond of stockings and corsets as she had ever mentioned.

_But if, perchance, he was not..._

No. While this was a most excellent dream, a Dream, if ever he'd met one, it was still only a Dream; if not a mere dream, a Dream nonetheless, and thus, within the liberties of such a Dream, he surmised that he could safely divulge his heart to _this Alice_ regarding his opinion of her current state of dress.

"Ye're adorable, lass," he rumbled, the words being gently extricated from deep within the Madness and the Badness. "'Tis admirable how beautiful ye've gotten. Ye've grown vury attractive durin' this time. An' 'tis quite acceptable tuh dress down tuh yer undergarments in such turrible heat, _**but only in front of MAE, YER HATTER-!**_"

Tarrant swiftly pinned his last words down, before either Badness or Madness could break completely free. He panted under the weight of all the words that began with A, but in reality, it was only one word (_Alice, ALIce, Alice, AliCE, Alice__**AlicealicealICeALICE**__!_).

[~~~]

"Alice!" cried a spiteful, sniveling voice from beyond the door. "Are you really alone? If so, you're talking to yourself again!"

Hamish Ascot never came under such threat of death as that very moment. Alice whirled around furiously, her hands leaving the mirror.

"_**No! No! Dinnae leave mae, Alice! Dinnae leave poor Tarrant! Dinnae leave yer Hatter! **_"

Spinning back to her looking glass after hearing the Hatter's anguished wail, Alice gasped as she watched the apparition claw at the glass beseechingly. Swiftly, the image faded, leaving nothing but the wisps of sound behind.

"_**...poor Tarrant!"**_

The faintest hint of too-sweet tea hung heavily in the air.

"Lord Hamish Ascot, I am always alone! I thought you knew that by now!" Alice roared in her most unladylike voice - _the Voice that Slew the Jabberwocky_ - a strange Anger burning through her hotly, igniting a funnel of Rage that made everything _**Bright and Sharp and Hurtful and Wrong!**_"

Absolem ghosted past her as she panted, having thrown all of her stockings and corsets out of the window. She shivered as his wings brushed her tear-stained cheek.

"I am always alone, now."

[~~~]

Somewhere, under or over or through the mirror, Madness and Badness converged to form _**Darkness**_.

[~~~]


	2. Letter B

"Better?" barked Bielle.

Big Badness' burr burbled balefully.

"Bitter," bandied blithely boyish blood brothers.

"Beware!" bellowed Bayard.

Blinded, broken baying blasted back.

* * *

Tarrant Hightopp woke with a start, his heart thumping in his chest like a drum. His eyes, for some reason, remained closed to the bright sunlight that he had apparently decided to bask in while he set about re-learning his body.

"_Hullo, bones, how are you lads? Anything broken?"_

He wriggled his toes and feet, working the shivers over his calves and (_dimpled knees_) thighs, noting no unusual complaints from his lower muscles. He then repeated the process with his hands and arms, again noting no unusual complaints. This was not to say that there were _no_ complaints, but that the complaints did not refer to broken bones, torn tendons, or macerated muscles.

Bruises, aches and torn skin? Quite ordinary, actually.

His eyes were still being a bit stubborn about the strength of the sunlight, so he left them closed while he got to work on sitting up.

"_Right, with your cooperation, back, we shall sit up on the count of three. Ready? Very good! One, two, three!"_

Tarrant began to rise and, quite unexpectedly, he was on the verge of screaming; apparently he had done something particularly strenuous behind there.

"You'll rather not want to try getting up now, Hatter."

"Contrariwise, if you try to get up, you'll find that you'd rather you didn't."

"Good day, boys," Tarrant bit out while steadfastly ignoring their bungled advice. Through the painful spasms of his back, the Hatter did not realize that he had yet to open his eyes; in fact, they were screwed shut rather tightly due to the pulsating agony he was experiencing.

"I don't suppose you could tell me what exactly happened?"

Before either Tweedledee or Tweedledum could break the news, Bayard and his wife barked sharply.

"Bayard? Is that you, old fellow? Were you here all this time?"

"Naturally, Hatter. How are you feeling?" Bayard rumbled in his deep voice while Bielle explained the need for discretion to the twin brothers.

"Quite frankly, I feel rather like one of Thackery's thrown tea-cups - not quite all together," Tarrant replied hesitantly. "Did- did I, perhaps, have a Bad Day?"

Bayard chuffed. It had been more like a bad month.

"Well, I suppose you've had better," Tweedledum replied blithely.

"Contrariwise, you've not had much worse," Tweedledee added.

"Unnecessary, boys!" Bielle barked sharply, using her great head to box both sets of ears. "Now Hatter, you just stay in bed for a bit - maybe the rest of today - and I'm certain you'll be a beamish boy by tomorrow morning. We can get you anything that you need unt-"

Tarrant Hightopp tuned out the bloodhound's motherly muttering as he put his hands to his stubborn eyes. Why, in the name of the White Queen, did they refuse to open?

"-And if you would, dear Hatter, please do not pick at the bandages over your eyes!"

Bayard woofed softly to his wife, who bit her tongue. Botheration; the dear bitch did have a tendency to babble when she was babying someone.

Bayard's warning was belated. Tarrant had already clutched at the bandages as he _remembered_ things - images - ugly and violent and horribly full of desperate begging. He had begged _her_ to stay, acting lower than a _mimsy borogove_ as his Madness brought Loneliness to the forefront.

'_How mimsy! How slurvish! How slurking!'_

"How long?" the Hatter croaked, his throat suddenly locking up on a well of shame and self-loathing.

"Now, Hatter, we all understan-" Bayard started in a soothing tone. Tarrant was having none of that.

"How _**long**_?"

"We're not sure," the twins answered as one voice. Tarrant could feel his shoulders beginning to hunch in disgust. That long. No wonder he'd awoken with neither Badness or Madness rampaging through his head - they'd been in there so long that they'd gotten bored and finally left for a while, leaving Himself to pick up the pieces.

"No-one else is injured?" he asked breathlessly, already picturing the chaos he could have caused.

"Oh no, dear boy," Bielle answered quickly - almost too quickly. "You left everyone else well alone - you seemed more inclined to...to...well..."

"You were bound and determined to hurt **yourself** is what they're trying to work themselves around to," Chessur revealed nonchalantly, his grin firmly fixed on his smoky face. "You gave a great heave at clawing your own eyes out and, when **that** didn't work, you threw yourself out of a window, landing on your back. You still had that dreadful broadsword of yours in one hand and were setting up to throw yourself on it, so then Bayard and Bielle had to tackle you to the ground while the boys stripped you of your weapon."

Both bloodhounds fixed the evaporating cat with baleful stares, but Tarrant did not seem to mind - while the cat was a blasted hat-_guddler_, he at least told him the unvarnished truth about situations - on the few occasions that the cat bothered to speak with him.

"How long, Chessur?" he pleaded with the cat - he had an urgent Need to understand how long he had wandered in the _**Darkness**_ of his own mind again. A masochistic desire to know how much worse he had gotten after two years of virtual peace.

"Three weeks, then another 3 days for you to get better," Chessur answered lazily, his voice schooled into boredom. "Even when you're batty, you still won't give me that beautiful hat - I asked once a day for it, but you tended to swing that bothersomely big knife at me."

If Tarrant could see, his eyes would be wider than Mally's favorite saucers. A whole month lost in his own brains? Badness snorted and told him that he deserved no less _**fer tryin' tuh ooppress him, dinnae he ken?**_

He sighed audibly as Madness bubbled up, briskly berating Badness for his brusqueness. So much for his peace and quiet. He was too tired to suppress his trademark giggles as Badness and Madness reacquainted Themselves with Himself.

"Actually, we are wondering if you could tell us what triggered this...episode, dear Hatter."

Everyone other than the Hatter whirled around as Mallymkun, Thackery and McTwisp led Mirana into the room. If anything, Tarrant Hightopp's back bowed lower, despite the bindings he could now feel around his ribs.

He could feel the weight of Expectation as it bore down on him. He twitched it off angrily, but it merely descended again, heavier than ever, in the form of Mally running up his backbone to sit on his shoulders.

"G' on, luv, tell us wot's wrong. Me 'n' Thackery 'aven't even seen you eva' since Frabjous Day! Y've been wolkin' all ov'r Underlan' 'n' once y've been back, you throw a massive Fit! We're worried 'bout you, you silly lump, s' tell us somethin' - anythin' - s'that we's can 'elp you!"

"Better blue!" Thackery added wisely. "Bread-and-butterflies! Bloomers!"

The image of Alice in her chemise and knickers came to his mind all unbidden and it was with that last word that Tarrant told them everything, his burdens breaking him. He belittled himself constantly as he babbled but he didn't hide a thing, baring himself completely, barely restrained from bodily throwing himself beneath Mirana's merciful feet by the bloodhounds and the boys.

"-and the last thing I remember is breaking the mirror I think but I couldn't find any glass to gouging her image out of my silly dreamy eyes and oh by the White I was begging her to stay and thenshewasgoneagain because shewasa-!"

"Hatter!" his audience cried as one, their combined bellow pushing Madness below the surface.

"-Bonnet! I'm fine. Thank you," he mumbled as he brought himself up short, his face buried in his bound hands. "Oh, by the marvel of Marmoreal, you must think I have finally gone completely gallymoggers!

Queen Mirana wafted over to Tarrant's bedside, her hands flitting away his bodyguards as she gently settled next to him. She tenderly turned his blind face towards her own, momentarily ignoring his tears of self-flagellation as she braced herself to tell him their latest insight into the future.

"Hatter...I have been consulting with Absolem. He- he has been in Otherland for quite sometime now."

Wondrous titters rose into the air from the assembly, but Mirana realized that Tarrant was no longer breathing.

He was _Waiting,_ with bated breath, for her to continue. She did so with reluctance - she probably should have told him a wee _White Lie_, but she honestly felt that this slightly unhinged man deserved the basic courtesy of Knowing The Truth.

"Absolem...has seen _her._ He has seen _Alice._"

The Hatter jumped, his muscles rippling in brief batches between his scalp and his sole. He still did not speak, nor did he resume inhaling.

"She is currently in possession of a rather strange mirror. We do not think that it was created in the Otherland - it seems to speak Outlandish, at any rate. That's what Alice was thinking about when it woke up - Outlandish and Outlanders."

Finally, Hatter drew in air, one enormous gulp. He was rather glad now that his eyes were banded down - he was quite sure that he did _not_ want everyone to know what he was feeling.

The White Queen was not so easy to fool. She softly reached behind his head and began to undo his bandages. Tarrant winced with each layer removed as the sunlight struck his eyes with solid blows of heat and radiance. Eventually, the last layer was gone and Mirana directed Chessur to lick each scratched eyelid before sitting back while the magic went to work.

"Hatter, you are far from crazy. Please, open your eyes - both inside and outside."

Tarrant wanted to resist - he never wanted to see again! But this was the White Queen - the woman to whom he had sworn his clan's everlasting allegiance. He did not have the leisure of disobeying her and so he peeled his eyes open and he _saw again_.

At the foot of the bed was the man-sized looking glass - no longer dusty and smeared, but glistening in the light of the morning. He stared at Himself, who waved nervously from the reflection. The blushes around his eyes had been marred by long scars that were already fading, thanks to Chessur, however his face looked like he had fallen into bramble bushes. A small testament to the Fury with which he had attacked Himself, spared only by his ever present thimbles.

More importantly, his eyes were still violet - not green, nor gold, nor red, but a deep, plummy violet. The color his Pa's eyes used to turn when he kissed his Ma. The color that had drained from his sister's irises as the Jabberwocky slew the White Queen's first Champion.

The color of love - once found, still living, till Death.

He watched Himself in amazement even as Mirana moved behind him, her hands held daintily above his shaking shoulders as her dark eyes grew quite sad.

"This mirror is, apparently, the twin to Alice's. They are almost impossible to shatter and they communicate with each other when they are awakened by the correct words or thoughts. Right now, Hatter, you and Alice appear to be the only ones who can use them and, very soon, I will have need of you both. Please show him, Thackery, McTwisp."

The Hare and the Rabbit bounced onto the bed and drew their pocket-watches out.

"All wrong!" Thackery giggled insanely, his eyes rolling around in their sockets. "All wrong like no rain in Spain!"

"Sadly, he's right," McTwisp agreed as the two animals held their time-pieces up in the mirror.

Tarrant stared bemusedly at the watches' reflections, Comprehension obviously not in the mood to dawn for at least another few minutes. Then, when it did, it sent Tarrant digging into his sporran for his own well-buttered pocket-watch.

He Himself never knew that his eyes could grow so wide.

"Time - that absolute _scrum_! Ah shouldnae left him tuh run around hows'ev'r he pleased!" the Hatter roared as he looked back at Mirana, wisps of red threading through the violet. "Tha' bluhdy piece o' _shukm - _ does he ken tha' he's runnin' **backwards?**"

The White Queen nodded wearily in confirmation. She had seen the effects all over Underland for the past few days, the flowers and trees already suffering as Dawn ran into Midnight and Sunset bumped into Brillig. She drew her Courage around her like a cloak as she soldier on with the bad news that Absolem and the Oraculum had revealed.

"And only too soon, my friends, I fear that we shall be back to where we started - Frabjous Day, and the slaying of the Jabberwocky. Minus our Champion."

[~~~]


	3. Letter C

Clocks click contrariwise.

Coincidences collide.

Carefully consolatory camaraderie

Confers confusing conjectures.

Curious? Come closer...

* * *

"Lord Hamish Ascot, what exactly _are_ you doing in India?" Alice asked in hushed tones at breakfast, her aspect bitter, cold, derisive - every facet genuinely hardened in judgment.

"_Bloody impressive, Alice. You managed to use every letter from A to J,"_ she found Herself quibbling spitefully. She gave Herself a quick kick in the shin and turned her attention to the wan, red-headed male suffering in front of her.

Hamish mopped his face with a broad handkerchief as the heat of the Indian sky continued to beat down on him like a hammer. It was only breakfast with Alice, her chaperone, who was also the owner of the boarding-house - a dour English-woman who had been born in the colony - and his father. Why was it already so _difficult_?

"When _is_ the monsoon season going to come? Heavens, I _do_ wish we were in the mountains-"

"You are stalling," Alice continued in a hiss, closely watching her former suitor's face.

Hamish, for all his love of cravats and courtesies, had never really been a very brave fellow - in fact, he was a complete coward. His father's tales about the Scottish Highlands unnerved him. He shunned the typical, gentlemanly conversations on conflicts and colonizations over cognac. He typically observed his father's basket-hilted ceremonial claymore with something akin to dread.

Alice had tried to swing it at him once, just before she left. Perhaps that was why.

Whatever the reason, Hamish was everything that Alice certainly was **not** - contrarily, she was everything he could **not** be. Courageous, colorful, crafty, creative...

'_Oh, not again!'_ the younger Lord Ascot winced internally. He had been having the strangest thoughts ever since his first feverish weeks in India - daydreams of colorful tea-times and whimsical queens cast all in white. He had not done such _nonsensical_ wondering since he was a young lad in knee-highs - now was not the time to encourage them, even if they _were_ directly related to her question-

"Lord Ascot, I would expect to receive a proper answer within a reasonable time of asking a simple question!" Alice quipped quietly, still annoyed at the red-headed son of her business partner for his untimely interruption of her daydream a week ago. She stabbed at her egg petulantly, her mind already turning inwards to her memory of the Hatter's appearance.

'_Corded,' _she thought to herself, eyes half-closed as her daydream took hold. _'Chiseled. China-white. Curly...'_

Alice was forced to cough convincingly in order to conceal the calescent current that coursed carelessly through her body and colored her cheeks. She had _never_ before dreamed of her Hatter with crisp copper curls that lightly peppered the cleft of his chest. Curious.

To add to the surreal quality of the daydream, he had begged her to stay with...was that his name, then? Tarrant? Had she somehow pulled it from her subconscious mind, or was it purely a conception of her own imagination?

Curiouser.

"Actually, Alice, I came to thank you."

Reluctantly, Alice withdrew from the captivating image of...Tarrant (_yes, she rather __**liked**__ that name_)and centered her cerulean eyes on her breakfast partner. He looked rather like he'd just bitten into a cold scone.

"Are you quite alright?" Alice began, her eyes fluttering with concern. "Are you sure you have not fallen prey to malaria again?"

Hamish shuddered, remembering his last fit of cruel chills and burning nights. Of all the cursed contagion that laid upon this blighted continent, he had had the foul luck to catch one that was chronic. Thank goodness Alice had somehow secreted a compendium of Chinese cures in her trunks when she left that country - he had never been so grateful for a cup of tea, even if it was brewed from the bark of some ancient tree...

"No, although I actually _cannot_ thank you enough for your overweening curiosity when it comes to books. No, what I came to India to thank you for was...was, well, for _not_ marrying me."

Alice's face could not contain her shock. Hamish, sensing his only opening, rushed forward.

"Your letters to your mother and Margaret - your mother often told us of them. And then Father's own writings about your adventures and your negotiations... Quite frankly, they were all very...inspiring. They gave me the desire to see the world outside of England - you know, view a bit of _the empire where the sun never sets_. When Father said that you were going to be in Calcutta, I thought to myself, _'Perfect! Why not join them in the jewel of Her Majesty's crown_?' And so I took my passage to Bombay straight away to enjoy the sights, do some light business for Father, and prepare for both of you to arrive. Mother was terribly worried, of course - particularly when I lost track of a few weeks. She didn't seem to think I was strong enough to do...well _anything _really. But everything turned out fine in the end, thanks to you, again."

Hamish gave a small, ill-fitting smile as he finished speaking. Despite her flush of embarrassment - _to think that her words could have driven the young Ascot into voyaging so recklessly!_ - she could sense that there was more than gratitude for awakening a long-dormant sense of wonder in his current...chattiness, for want of a better word. She carefully added two spoonfuls of dark, East Indian sugar to her Darjeeling, followed by a generous dollop of cream. Stirring, she observed Hamish from under her eyelashes. He was busily dabbing the cooling perspiration from his top lip with an embroidered handkerchief and his hand was _shaking_.

Curiouser and curiouser.

"I daresay you could have chosen worse colonies to travel to if struck by the need to escape England," Alice conceded gracefully, taking a long sip of her cooling tea. Her egg had been quite forgotten. "But I also daresay that with the things you have experienced... Well, really, I cannot understand _why_ contracting malaria would be worthy of any form of thanks."

Hamish carefully hid his sudden bout of nerves under a rattling cup of tea - one sugar, no milk. He took a bracing gulp and looked back up at his almost-fiancee. Her eyes were positively glowing, wide and all-encompassing. This face was all-too familiar to the young Lord Ascot - indeed, it was Curious Alice at her finest. Hamish felt a bit more encouraged - if there was anyone who he could safely confess to, it would be the gossip-hating Alice.

"Well, you see, Alice - a few times when I was a child, I've had rather...rather _remarkably _realistic dreams of a white-clad beauty. She is very pale and dainty, with hair like...like masses of colorless silk threads. Her eyes are large and dark and her lips are a lovely indigo sha..."

Alice could feel the flesh on her back creep at Hamish's description. Surely it was not possible...

"...She is so graceful! When she dances, she flutters like...like a pale moth on the warm summer night's air..."

It simply could **not** be possible, but his description was far too much like the White Queen to draw any other comfortable conclusion.

'_Six impossible things before breakfast, Alice. Impossibility number one - Lord Hamish Ascot has dreamed about the White Queen of Underland.'_

"And quite honestly, any woman I ever meet is going to have to match that ideal, and Alice, you simply do not have those...qualities. Not to say that you are possessing of poor qualities..."

Dear heavens, was Hamish Ascot _babbling_? He, the master of the clipped, precise tone?

'_Impossibility number two,'_ she informed Herself rather smugly.

"Anyway, you see, I had quite forgotten about those dreams until the fevers began. You know, as I laid in that bed - sweating and freezing and boiling myself to death - I...I even thought that she was there, tending to me. It was all rather...rather comforting, really."

The smile that crossed his face now was introspective, but far more natural. Alice, however, was more worried about the flush that remained on his normally colorless cheeks.

"Are you _sure_ you are fine, Hamish?" Alice inquired once more. He waved her concern off and sipped his tea for a while. Given his sudden reticence, Alice concluded that he was quite embarrassed about his little outburst and quite content to end the conversation. She pouted slightly, then worried the inside of her bottom lip with her sharp teeth. She was...confused. Here was Hamish, of all people, chatting away with her, _thanking_ her for publicly embarrassing him and making a mockery of his marriage proposal because he ended up in the Company, traveling to Bombay, catching malaria and remember old conjectures from his childhood.

And it all felt very much _Right_ and _Proper._ How odd. How was she to respond to him, formerly one of her foremost nay-sayers?

"_Dear Hamish, you are absolutely not crazy, nor touched by the chills. That woman you dream of is the White Queen of Underland, and I am - was - may be still? - her Champion! Therefore, young man, if you have any intentions towards her Majesty, I shall be forced to duel you to the death with crumbly cravats!"_

"Alice?" Hamish started suddenly, taking her from her hysterically-tinted imaginings by placing his teacup neatly on its matching saucer (_dreadfully boring, that_). "I believe that I should like to be your cousin."

That comment truly caught Alice off-guard - her eyes narrowed as she scrutinized the younger Lord Ascot. He held up his hands, his mouth a small 'o', his blue eyes wide and clear.

"Nothing suspicious! I am no longer willing to compete for your heart, Miss Kingsleigh. No, you must understand - you are very much like a sister to me now! I should like us to remain close, despite everything. In mine own heart, you have not ceased to be the troublesome young girl who is far too curious for her own good..."

Here he halted as he let his words sink in. Alice's wistful smile of childhoods spent hiding in parlors spread into a grin as she began to appreciate his thoughts. Her friend was trying to come back! To shed the chains of propriety in some small way and return to their childhood camaraderie!

'_Impossibility number 3_.'

Hamish hastened to complete his sentence before Alice could begin beaming.

"...And dreadfully entertaining to watch as she falls over her own two feet!"

Alice made sure that the elder Lord Ascot was still preoccupied with his papers before flinging a bit of her crumpet at Hamish. A stern cough from her chaperone made she flush guiltily, but the quiet chortling smothered behind his napkin lightened her heart.

One of her obligations had been fully attended to.

"Having fun, are we?" Lord Ascot chuckled as he commenced a new conversation. "Quite right...we are, after all, only young once! I daresay you two should go out into the city and enjoy yourself today - Company business will not be pressuring us to act for a few days yet."

Alice perked up visibly at the thought of exploring Bombay, her eyes already shining and her curls bouncing. Hamish glanced at his father, who nodded surreptitiously.

"Excellent idea, Father," Hamish agreed loudly. "Mrs. Cunningham, would you be so good as to join us - as our chaperone, of course?"

"I would be delighted, good sir," Mrs. Cunningham replied dutifully, bowing her head. "We will prepare ourselves as soon as you are ready, Miss Kingsleigh. We must address your wardrobe immediately, I should imagine. You will need clothing suitable for the colony."

Under her breath, the older woman muttered testily, "I imagine you have a million corsets in your trunk and those things will be the death of you in this heat."

'_A trip to the city! And my chaperone is going to insist that I forgo a corset! Impossibilities number four and five!'_

"I shall be right with you, Mrs. Cunningham," Alice responded immediately, the delight obvious in her voice.

"Very good, milady," the chaperone replied, waiting patiently as Hamish and Lord Ascot departed the dining room for the hotel library next door. "If you will just follow me, I shall have some servants draw your bath while you disrobe-"

Alice raised her hand to pause the older woman's rumination. She could have sworn that she'd heard someone call her sister's name.

"Lowe...absolute cad! ...not enough...defiled...ngsleigh...cruelty...?"

"Neverthe...intentions...divorce Margaret...!"

"Miss Kingsleigh?"

"Yes, coming, Mrs. Cunningham."

It was only after she had begun soaking in the bath that Alice was able to connect the muffled words in her mind. She scrambled upwards in the water, sending it coursing onto the floor and soaking through the carpets as she bellowed loudly enough to scare away the maid servants again.

'_Impossibility number six...'_

"**That disgusting dastard dares to divorce my sister?"**

[~~~]


	4. Letter D

Dogged determination denies dark desires.

Divorcee deigns deepest delving devotion.

Dastard damned, dastard delivered.

Destiny's darling decides direction.

Duty deserves desserts.

* * *

Tarrant drew his ragged, bloody fingertip away from his needle and thread, looking at it with puzzlement deeply entrenched on his face. It had been - years, surely - since last he had noticed the prick of a needle - he had the calluses to prove it!

"Ah, but wait-" the Hatter began, looking up at the mirror.

His reflection deigned to shock him again. The changes never seemed so profound as when he looked into the mirror - many days he would go about his business completely oblivious to Time's despicable dash towards the Past instead of the Future.

Tarrant's orange hair was once more curling down the sides of his head, with long sideburns to match. Necessity of sight forced him to pull the hair back with one of his spare cravats. His eyebrows were slightly less bushy, inconveniently remaining within the boundary of his face. His mouth felt rather wholesome once more, though his teeth - even the new ones - were still darkened. His skin had gained a mottled pinkness to it as it sloughed off years of Madness, Badness...and mercury.

Yes, mercury. That was it.

At any rate, the Hatter's skin was far more colorful, though nowhere near that of normal folk. His skin had also grown softer and smoother - scars from years of claymore training and...hat pinning...had disappeared overnight, altering his mental map of his body. Although, at the rate he was sticking himself, his hands would be back to normal quite soon.

"Och! Bluhdy needle!"

Tarrant sucked on the digit crossly, but without much thought, laving it completely with his tongue as he set his damaged clothing to one side. Queen Mirana had commissioned the entire floor to be at his disposal while she and Absolem tried to understand why Time was so intent on torturing the Hatter. While Time in general was reversing all over Underland, Time had been particularly attentive to the last Hightopp, reaching back into the annals of History at an alarming pace.

At any rate, with his own apartments within Marmoreal, it was not as if someone could come in on him 'unrigged.' Unfortunately, as a Hightopp, he was doomed to repair and replenish his pitiful wardrobe - he had not worn clothes made by another clan since he'd finished his apprenticeship and he would not start now, stubborn woolie needles be damned!

"_Downal wif' bluhdy behg needles!"_ Badness grumbled as the blood slipped between the Hatter's lips. The pain was a mild trigger, an annoyance on par with his changing figure.

"_A rhyme! How delightful!"_ Madness giggled. Tarrant stifled them both, snorting into his hand. He shook his head, tried very hard _not_ to relish the weight of his regrown locks, and approached the mirror naked as the day his Ma'd borne him into Underland. His eyes were locked on his reflection, being swallowed whole in the depths of violet glowing back at him.

'_Aye, ye lickspittle scut, ye shouldnae left haer tae hare off back tae th'Otherland!'_ Badness burbled, anger rising steadily. _'If ye'd taken haer on th' bluhdy battlefield lik'n wot Ah told ye, ye'd have had haer well-bred wif' Hightopp bairns!_

"Silence," Tarrant replied without heat, already so used to this internal argument that he could ignore the arousal stirring in his loins at the thought of ripping the Champion's armor off of her panting, flushed body on the outskirts of the battlefield and taking her, _**wet and hot and bloody**_, on the damned dying dregs of the Jabberwocky, in front of the _**whole**_ _**damned world**_-

Damnation. Definitely in denial. He would be forced to disarm his distress before it lead to disastrous situations.

He pulled his hand out of his mouth and placed it, still bleeding minutely, on the reflection of his lambent eyes.

"Oh, _Alice_," he lisped longingly momentarily flirting with _**Darkness**_ by daring to declare her name out loud.

"Where _are_ you? What on earth are you doing Up There?"

The surface of the mirror glinted - a sudden, glistening glimmer, like the teeth of the Bandersnatch when it is hungry. Tarrant, still gazing at his reflection, heard - rather, felt - a keening in the glass itself. His reflection faded into a dank, dismal, dour, doughty drizzle that took a long while to clear.

Tarrant sucked in a startled breath between his tainted, gapped-tooth grimace of anticipation.

Alice was pacing in front of him, so _heart-achingly_ close that he swore that he could inhale her glorious Alice-scent of heady flowers, singing teas, and curious Questions. Her curls streamed behind her as she carried herself across the length of the room, each strand trailing heavy, dewy droplets of water like the tail of the marvelous Traveling Star that she once described - yes, like a burning, icy comet. She was wearing far more clothes now (_thankfully!_), but they looked as if she had fastened them in a hurry - slap-dash dressing at best. Her hands flew in all directions as she turned, small fists beating powerfully at the air surrounding the Champion. And her language!

"When I get my hands on that _**slurkm-gobbling scut's wart**_I will-"

"Are...are you really..._the Alice_?" Tarrant asked tentatively, head cocked questioning to one side as he tried to reconcile such _awful_ language with such _delicious_ lips. "Maybe, perhaps, that is to say...have I called upon the wrong mirror?"

The dervish dropped her hands and her eyes darted around the room before pinning him down with their intensity. They spread open widely, causing devastatingly dramatic drumming in his heart (_and loins_) as she dashed back across the room.

"Oh, Tarrant! Thank goodness you are here! I've been running out of words to describe _**disgusting, disgraceful, death-deserving detritus**_ that masquerade as loving husbands and fathers!"

For a brief moment, Tarrant felt Time stop for him once more - obviously the impish fellow had been as dazed by her utterance as his former murderer. Beneath bright, fiery (_albeit slightly tamer_) eyebrows, eyes swirled green and violet and orange while his Heart stuttered in its paces.

She had called him by his given name.

She had declared it out loud.

"_Tarrant,"_ had dropped like a honeyed jewel from her plush, velveteen lips.

And then, before the Hatter could fully appreciate the _glory_ of her even knowing his name, the rest of her rant slammed into him with all the strength of a Jabberwocky's tail.

"A man?"

"Only the most _despicable_ creature on earth!"

"A _husband?_"

"I knew he was a cad - I caught him _kissing_ another girl only moments before the proposal! He should never have married if he knew his appetites were so horrible!"

"_**A fa'r?**_"

[~~~]

Alice took a moment to actually analyze the angry man growling at her in her mirror - while _her_ wrath was completely justified, it was odd for the Hatter to care so much about a man he had never met. Her eyes now unclouded as her rage dissipated, Alice realized a number of very important Issues:

First and foremost, the Hatter's eyes were a disturbing shade of bloody chocolate - red and brown running together like blood in mud (_now was not the time for rhyming though!_).

Secondly, the Hatter in question appeared to much...younger than she last remembered. His hair was shinier and far longer; his teeth - well, none were twisted or missing from the aborted snarl across his face. Most notably, however, was his skin. In his growing _Badness_, Alice could clearly see a faint blush running down his body, from his darkening lids along his strong neck, over his heaving chest and down to his-

Thirdly and rather shockingly, the Hatter was completely, utterly, and totally naked. And apparently quite proud of it.

Alice dragged her eyes forcibly up to his face, her breath strangled in her upper chest, her heart beating as fast as the wings of a hummingbird. The blush started from the top of her bosom and stretched like a crimson carpet to the roots of her hair and the tips of her ears. Her jaw had been left dangling dangerously open; drool dripped from the corners of her mouth before she could cover her face with all of her delicate digits, lower her burning face, and close her eyes tightly.

The Hatter merely raised one bushy eyebrow, his burr rasping deeply in his throat.

"_**Ah didnae ken tha' ah lass wif' bairn would bae ahfrightened by ah real man. Your husband must bae dallying wif' half the derby if y'still cannae stand tha' sight of one nahked Hatter."**_

And then, of all the wonders of either world, a blue blood-stained finger came _through_ the glass to lift Alice's chin. She jumped and whimpered at the contact, her eyes peeking from between her fingers; the Hatter's teeth to spread in a lurid grin.

"_**Oh...Ah seem tae have tha' wrong of it - y' can stand tha' sight of mae vury well. Nevertheless, Ah dinnae take tha' married lasses - s'trouble Ah and mae claymore dinnae need tae deal with."**_

Alice frowned and dropped her hands - she had listened to the burr as it rambled on, turning her blood into something hot and fiery and intoxicating, but her whole notions were suddenly plunged into cold water. Something was not right - the Hatter seemed to be talking about someone other than her sister. She opened her mouth to explain the situation to him, but suddenly the finger under her chin came up to lay over her open lips. Her tongue, already on its way out of her mouth, accidentally laved the damaged digit - she flicked it back inside quickly, carrying the tang of his essence with her. His eyes turned a flashing violet for brief moments before red and brown dominated once more.

"_**Naughtae - y'cannae ken tha' mischief tha' tongue of yours could cause. Unless - Ah, tha' poor lady must bae tryin' tae seduce mae for revenge, yes?"**_

Poor lady? Revenge? Alice felt a sudden, shuddering surety descend upon her; the Hatter somehow thought that she was married! And he thought her husband had made a...a...cuckquean!

Unfortunately, she was unable to disavow any of these dreadfully deranged determinations as his blue-tinged digit had sunk into her soft mouth to trap her tongue firmly to its fleshy floor. Her hands flew to up to try to detach herself, however his next statement made her pause.

"_**Say mae name again."**_

Alice quirked an eyebrow - when had she actually said it? She dug deep into her memory, her brow furrowed as she tried to think on when she may have said it out loud. The diamonds on the Hatter's eyelids grew darker.

"_**Alice. Say mae name again. Let mae hear your sweet tongue roll it in your mouth once more - tha's all Ah ask of y'. Say mae name, and I'll help you deal with tha' dirty diddler."**_

The finger and his essence were drawn from her mouth, wet and gleaming. Alice swallowed thickly, his unique flavor flooding her taste-buds as she watched as the Hatter pulled his dexterous digit back through the looking glass to suck on it like a boiled-sweet.

"_**Call mae 'Tarrant' once more, lassie," **_he asked one last time, his eyes burning her through the mirror.

Apparently that was indeed his name. Disturbed by his insistence and his misunderstandings, yet terribly excited by the Hatter's suddenly darker and far more daunting side, she shivered and said it again - very much aware of what she was doing this time.

"Tarrant."

[~~~]

The last living Hightopp closed his eyes as he felt his blood boiling under his skin, his pounding heart forcing all of the precious liquid to race to his manhood. He groaned as he heard that exquisite, energizing, ecstasy-inducing exclamation again, far louder this time. When he opened his eyes, he was not surprised to see **_soon-to-be-his_ _Alice_** with her hand over her mouth, her eyes riveted to his lower body.

Yes, desire was indeed there. For some reason - familial obligations no doubt, those had always swallowed up her Time - she was not free, but that could easily be rectified. She may have belonged to another man at the moment, she may have already been a mother, but she _desired_ _**him**_. That was more than enough to start with.

Tarrant Hightopp turned and pulled on his clothes - the still-torn kilt, the woolen socks, the over-sized shoes, the classic white shirt, the cravat, the jacket, and of course, the Hat. Turning back to Alice..._Ah yes,_ that _was_ disappointment on her face - she had not wanted him to dress at all, now had she?

Turning back to Alice, both hands resting on the pommel of his broadsword, the Hatter known as Tarrant Hightopp, and Vice-Versa, gave her a fully _**Darkness**_-tinted leer.

"Hatter - no, forgive me, _Tarrant_," Alice started, her hands now resting on the glass on her side. "I...I am wondering what _exactly_ it is that you are thinking of doing?"

Tarrant's leer stretched tighter, into a Chessur-worthy grin; _**Darkness**_ still boiling Himself in the juices of _Badness _and _Madness._

"'_**Tis quite simple, mae lass. Ah simply plan tae open a Door t'Above and disembowel tha' double-dealin' dog."**_

[~~~]


	5. Letter E

Elegant, enigmatic Excellency engages elite earnest.

Entreaties, excuses evaded entirely, emphatically -

Erstwhile emancipator eagerly embraces error.

Elderly eccentrics endow encyclopedic erudition.

Everyone England-bound ere evening.

* * *

"_My dear friend, Lord Ascot! How are you feeling?"_

Hamish Ascot vaguely felt his head rising over the edge of the tub of exceedingly hot water - his skin had flushed red the moment he stepped into it. Muffling a groan and suppressing a shiver, Hamish whispered his answer into the sickly-scented air of his room.

"Your Excellency, what on _earth_ are you doing here? I apol...apologize for being so dreadfully improper. I assure you, I am quite we - quite well at the moment."

"_...I see. And Alice? How is my Champion faring?"_

The younger Lord Ascot had taken a furious, fretful, frightened, and frustrated Alice Kingsleigh into Bombay proper earlier that day in a futile attempt to calm her down. He still was not sure how his failed fiancee and father's apprentice had learned about her sister's predicament, but it did not matter - Alice was on the warpath. With the imperiousness and..._muchness_... of the Queen Herself, the blonde woman had demanded passage back to England - her aim was to be with Margaret and her nephew before Lowell had the pleasure of kicking them out of their home.

"Alice is..."

Hamish, despite his ever-worsening ague, could still have told himself - well, his imaginary Excellency, to be perfectly exact - an Untruth. A small, tiny, _little_ White Lie even. Something to quell the anxious emotion echoing each and every utterance she made. He was certain that she would not have minded. She might actually have preferred that.

"Alice is..."

Enraged? Exasperated? Envenomed? Ensorcelled by imaginary, embroidered effigies of her enemy ensanguined?

"Alice has...a family problem to address, your Excellency. And not a small one."

The silence was heavily weighted. It seemed to Hamish that he could clearly hear the ticking of the large grandfather clock in the common room below.

"_Are you **sure** that you are both fine, Lord Ascot?"_

The young man swallowed the aching scream of pain that built up as he removed his arm from the scalding water. The motion sent the air whispering along the exposed limb and, despite the sultry nature of typical Indian weather, he was forced to suppress a strong bout of shivering. His efforts failed, causing a frown to wrinkle her Excellency's high, noble forehead.

"_Lord Ascot! You are suffering again from those..those Feverills again, are you not?"_

If he'd had enough energy to feel abashed, Hamish was sure that his face would flush even redder. Unfortunately, he was struggling just to keep his body warm - far too much to care about the fact that her Excellency's hands were on his forehead, or the fact that his head was laying on her lap, or the fact that she was even _existing in the same place as he._

Queen Mirana's skilful fingertips entangled Hamish's thoughts in ever-growing slumber. Eschewing caution, the young lord began to whisper out the events of the day.

"After breakfast...Lord, I _am _cold...yes, after breakfast, my father and I retired to the library to discuss the matter out of earshot - I must admit that I was quite appalled at the news myself... At any rate, Alice was _supposed_ to be preparing herself for our trip into the city, but obviously she overheard us somehow, because when I came up to fetch her, she was positively livid..."

[~~~]

Hamish paused at Alice's doorway as he heard a string of heated gibberish float through the closed portal. The door itself seemed to be trembling from the force of the un-ladylike...stomping (_for there was no other way to describe the loud thudding that traveled the length and breadth of the floor_).

"_Y'mightn't wants ta go in there jus' yet, g'vnur,"_ the doorknob seemed to state in a nervous, conspiratorial manner. Hamish resolutely shook the cotton wool out of his mind and placed a firm hand on the timid knob, ready to knock and stop Alice's foolishness.

"Ali-"

Hamish paused. He never knew Alice's voice to be so... gruff. Looking down the corridor and the stairs behind him, Hamish proceeded to engage in an activity that he had often scorned and scolded his former intended for dabbling in.

He eavesdropped through the door, stooping low to plaster his ear to the keyhole.

He was certainly out of practice - it took him quite some time to distinguish the two separate voices, but eventually every noise evened out to make Alice's voice quite evident, as well as the muffled voice of a very evidently _male_ entity.

'_A man? In Alice's chambers?'_ Hamish all but screamed to himself, his nerves and Properness shouting out in alarm. Yet, the young lord did not feel the overwhelming compulsion to fling open the door and rescue Alice from whatever..._knave_...lingered so presumptuously inside a lady's chambers. No, for some reason, he had the distinct impression that _he_ would be the one in need of rescue if he were to enter now. Shaking his head, Hamish dismissed the (_briefly_) entertaining notion of saving Alice, of all people, and tried to bring his mind back to the conversation going on inside the room.

[~~~]

"_A man, you say?"_ her Excellency murmured as she bathed his face with the warm water. _"Mayhaps a...mad man?"_

"O-o-oh mo-most assuredly, your Excellency," Hamish replied within a shiver. "The man had somehow gotten the notion that _Alice_ was _married_, as far as I can gather! After that, I'm not sure what exactly was said, but his...propositions...certainly did not seem to be the most sane."

"_Oh dear. Yes, this certainly explains everything. Could you continue to elaborate, good Lord Ascot?"_

Something about the way she said his name made him shiver again. Harder. He sank a bit deeper into the water before continuing.

[~~~]

"A-Alice?" Hamish began timidly after silence had reigned behind the doorknob for quite some time. Annoyed with the tremulous quality of his voice, the young Ascot began again, prefacing his entrance with an enthusiastic knock on the door.

"Alice Kingsleigh! I say, are you ready yet?" Hamish began again, quite proud of how his voice had returned to its normal timbre. He alowed himself to knock briskly on her door - a quick rapping that never failed to raise her ire.

Expect that this time, it did.

Hamish frowned at the door, puzzled as the silence stretched even further - well past the time that Alice would normally throw open her door and scold him roundly for annoying her as he brushed off her existence. Caution and trepidation filled his veins with ice, even as he raised his knuckles to rap on the door again...

"Yes!" Alice cried, her face flushed quite red, her hair still in damp disarray. Hamish stumbled back from the forceful thrust of her door, opting to peer around her slight frame and into the room behind her.

"I say, are you alright?" the younger Ascot began, now reviewing Kingsleigh's young heiress with an eagle eye and blunt intrigue. "I could have sworn that I heard you speaking with a _man _ just now!"

Alice's eyes widened for a moment.

"A..._man?_" she began, her voice unusually uncertain. Hamish began to feel rather uncomfortably in the brief silence. Surely Alice Kingsleigh couldn't - _wouldn't_ - allow a man into her chambers unchaperoned. Or _at all,_ for that matter-

"I fooled you, Lord Ascot?" Alice suddenly replied in an excited tone. "Excellent! I've been trying my best to adopt a 'manlier' tone for my unseen business correspondences - stodgy old men never seem to trust a high-pitched voice! I thought that I should try talking like a man to get into that more 'masculine' frame of mind, so that my writing would be less suspect and 'dainty' and-"

"Enough!" Hamish chuckled, pleading surrender with both gloved hands before offering an elbow to his eccentric new 'cousin.' From her explanation, it seemed more likely that she had planned to unman her foul brother-in-law using pen and paper. He could hardly disapprove.

"Enough of your madness, please! Let us escape any thoughts of business exchanges and indulge in the wonders of the city instead. Father has had our good hostess engage the services of an elderly, well-versed guide to the city, all to entertain you while he books our passage back to England for this evening."

"Back?" Alice cried out in quite an unladylike manner. Hamish smoothly ignored her lack of social grace with practiced ease as he led her down the stairs. "But I thought we were to meet with the Parsis-"

"No, not any longer. They deal in opium - quite extensively, to be honest. After viewing the dens in China, Father is _rather_ reluctant to continue working with them. At any rate, _I_ think that this hasn't come soon enough!"

Hamish paused somewhat dramatically to critically eye his new 'cousin,' then sniffed as disparagingly as possible - a gesture that was largely meaningless given the good-natured twinkle in his light-blue eyes.

"You, Miss Kingsleigh, are in desperate need a goodly dose of re-taming - some of your language up there was _quite_ colorful. I assure you, you are only communicating with gentlemen in business, _not_ brigands!"

Alice had the good grace to blush slightly as they emerged in the foyer where the elder Lord Ascot was waiting for them. She did not, however, have enough grace to avoid pinching her escort's arm as fiercely as she possibly could.

[~~~]

"_Oh yes - I believe you will find that Alice is not domesticated at all!"_ her Excellency laughed, her voice tinkling through Hamish's chilled head like so many tiny, silvery, pealing bells. The sound reminded him of warm summer days, for some odd reason.

"_But I gather that it would be very hard to confuse our Alice with any sort of man, in voice if not in attitude. You did not believe her,"_ the comforting monarch continued as she gently rubbed her patient's shivering hand. The bath water was definitely cooling towards tepidity.

"I _chose_ to believe her - at least, for that moment. She sounded quite distraught when she first emerged from her chambers - the whole idea of this city charade had been to keep her _calm_.," Hamish carefully clarified, determined to make his position known. "At any rate, our guide proved to be an erudite old fellow, who quickly engrossed Alice in the history and beauty of the city. That took her mind off of matters - for a few moments. However, not even the excitement of exploring could take her mind off of her sister's dilemma. Eventually, I sat her down and spoke with her at length. Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do until we reach London."

"_Then you have done your best, good Lord Ascot. That will surely be more than sufficient. Unfortunately, I too must now do my best. Please, give my regards to Alice - remind her than this burden is no heavier than that of Jabberwocky-slaying. Or Hatter-taming, for that fact._

Her Excellency's comforting hand briefly rested on his shoulder before her presence faded completely. Despite her crystalline appearance, her hand was heated on his frigid skin, radiating through the stiff joint most pleasantly. The sensation made Hamish think carefully over his own interactions with the old Indian gentleman.

[~~~]

"I see that the two of you are quite close," a silky, well-learned voice intoned from behind the impending Lord Ascot's left ear. Hamish froze, one hand reaching for the small pistol he kept in his waistcoat as he mentally cursed and made sure that Alice was out of harm's way by the vendor's stall. This was, after all, the Indian sub-continent, not England. If London could have the festering sore on humanity known as Whitechapel, who knew what existed in the tiny, winding by-streets of a strange, eastern city...

His tension visibly lessened as the old man stepped up next to him. Letting out an uncharacteristic growl of frustration, Hamish calmed his quivering nerves before quietly rounding on his guide, who allowed the young Lord to berate him soundly for a few moment.

"Please, forgive me, Ascot _sahib_. I did not mean to startle you," the obviously well-educated Indian gentleman began, his hands splayed in an open, non-aggressive manner. "I merely wanted to congratulate you on your engagement to such a fine _memsahib_."

Hamish reeled under the unintended mental blow. Unbalanced, his hand replaced the pistol as he began to sputter out denials. Eventually it appeared that he made himself understood - or at least,better misunderstood, as the aged guide now seemed to believe that Alice was his little sister.

"However, dear sir, am I wrong in saying that there is someone that you have developed...a certain type of feeling for? Affection, as I believe you may call it?" the white-haired guide continued, pressing the matter in an unusually forward manner. Hamish's fair skin flushed to a bright red in his cheek, his mind still flustered by unwanted images of himself and Alice engaged - for all that he loved his mother, that had not been her most brilliant match-up. The young lord, noting that Alice was almost finished in her perusal of a nearby vendor's goods, quickly gave in to the guide, if only to get this embarrassing ordeal over and done with before he began to resemble a rose in bloom.

"Let's us say that I _am_ at the stage that where a fellow begins to look seriously at long-term companionship and that I have someone in mind. What interest would my affairs in such delicate matters be to you?"

The answer - written in surprisingly good English and far too detailed to be spoken about in respectable discussion - lay in the bottom of Hamish's trunk, currently being taken downstairs, where it joined other luggage and a large, ornate, slightly blue-stained mirror.

[~~~]

* * *

_**Author says:**_

I am_ so_ very sorry to keep people waiting for this for so long! To say that Life has been giving me a swift kick up the rear is putting it mildly, to say the least. Please enjoy this small morsel of Hamishness as I work on the rest of the alphabet.


End file.
